


From the Fire

by lilacsigil



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Ceramics, Gen, Tea, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 00:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilacsigil/pseuds/lilacsigil
Summary: Breq, trying to track down the location of the twenty-fifth Garseddai gun, takes a ceramics class alongside a famous collector of antiques.





	From the Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crownedwitheyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedwitheyes/gifts).



Patience, Breq had thought, was something that she possessed to a far greater degree than any Radchaai could expect. Seven years gathering resources to destroy her probably impervious enemy, a thousand years before that as a ship…but this class was defeating her. 

"Honoured Student, if you continue to adjust the pottery shard, it will not form a seal. The vessel will remain broken."

"I understand," she replied, but with bad grace. She was sure she had fitted the two pieces of porcelain together more accurately than the teacher had done, and could have done better, yet she must remain still. Meditate upon the resurrection of the tea bowl. Contemplate the rejoining of pieces once separated. All the meditation in the world wasn't going to make this tea bowl whole again, Breq thought, but she put effort into maintaining her outer calm and, after all, she was particularly good at sitting completely still. 

To be completely honest, Breq had little interest in the repair of ancient pottery. What was broken was broken, and though it might be attractive or of historical interest in its own right, it was no longer the same vessel, and not fit for its former purpose. Most pottery classes, requiring bare hands, were held behind closed doors and considered more than a little daring, but this class used brushes and tools instead, and thus was appropriate for more genteel company. In this classroom sat Isharra Ibin, of the upstart Ibin family, known for its intense interest in rare antiquities as a way of establishing its credentials. 

Isharra herself had been a military commander, a Fleet Captain, and a serious part of the prestige that her house had so quickly attained came from her. Her cousin was Lord, but Isharra could have held that position if she had so desired. Instead, she had chosen to travel, always with two or three of her younger granddaughters at her side, to seek out rarity and beauty throughout the Radch. Of course, the Radch was so huge that nobody could expect to travel it in a single lifetime, or even ten, but Isharra Ibin had certainly covered certain areas thoroughly, learning and buying as she went. She now had the reputation of both scholar and soldier, although Breq's close examination of her purchases revealed that she was also a strategic investor, using her own reputation to raise or lower prices to her own advantage. 

The planet they were now on had been Radchaai for so many generations that some even dared claim it had been Radch from the beginning, not an assimilated people at all. This was entirely false – Breq had not been personally present at this Annexation, but she had certainly had records of it. It had been an easy civilisation to annex, as at the time they had been suffering from a series of viral pandemics that had decimated their population, and Radchaai technology offered them cures. While _Justice of Toren_ had never seen evidence that the Radch had induced these pandemics in the first place, it would not surprise Breq if this had been the case. Annexations were a great deal less uniform and a great deal more violent in those days. 

In any case, there had been minimal alteration to their culture – their gods assimilating into the Radchaai pantheon with ease – and thus their ceramic techniques, famed throughout the Radch, were considered to be at their peak here, at their source. Today's very expensive class was under the supervision of a senior potter, learning what was said to be the best technique for mending ceramics. It involved the ground bones of an indigenous quadruped, now farmed for its utility in mending china, a paste made from a sea grass and a number of other surprisingly organic ingredients. Breq wanted to ask what was wrong with high-temperature laser repair technology, but it didn't seem appropriate for such a spiritually-oriented classroom.

She still wanted to know, though.

Those who were advanced enough might even get to learn the mending techniques of the masters. Isharra Ibin, dressed in exquisitely restrained shades of deep blue, sat in perfect stillness at the far end of the long table, and Breq was pleased to notice that the granddaughters either side of her were far less able to meditate on the state of the pottery shards they were gluing together. They exchanged glances and smirks, and the younger came dangerously close to knocking down her just-mended pottery shards. Breq herself was capable of remaining entirely still, of course, and settling her outward countenance, but her mind stayed busy. She needed to get closer to Isharra Ibin, and this classroom was too full to offer that chance. 

Despite Breq's annoyance at having to wait, she did enjoy the final part of the class. Student by student, they held the repaired shards with long metal tongs and plunged them into the heart of a carefully stoked fire. If the join had been correctly done, the shards would remain stuck together, the first step in repairing an entire tea bowl. About half the repairs broke apart in the flames, including the two Ibin granddaughters' attempts. Breq was up next and found it was remarkably satisfying to watch the connection between the two shards firm up and hold steady, a base for further repairs. Meditation might not mend this old and handsome bowl, but Breq considered for the first time that the glue and the fire might. 

Those eight students whose shards held together were invited to view a masterclass that very evening, and Breq was pleased to note that both she and Isharra were among the chosen. Isharra was obviously displeased at the way her granddaughters had treated the class, and made no attempt to ask for special consideration for them, though Breq had no doubt that the request would have been granted. Everyone who dealt in antiques or other items of special interest found benefit in being close to Isharra Ibin. 

They were served a humble – and yet exquisitely fresh – meal by the pottery apprentices, and Breq wondered how many of them would rather have taken the Aptitudes and got out of here. Or perhaps this group was the remainder, a mix of those who truly wanted to stay and those who failed to leave. Isharra Ibin's granddaughters were far more subdued now: obviously their grandmother had had words. 

"You're an interesting one," the elderly woman on the cushion next to Breq said. She was not a student, and her small stature belied muscular hands and arms. Her gloves were very fine and obviously custom-fitted to her. 

"In terms of my interest in pottery?" Breq asked, politely.

"No, no, in your physique. You sit so very still until you decide to move, then you move all at once." She demonstrated, looking more like a puppet than a person. "As a profession, I create holy figurines, but all my life I have also enjoyed making dolls. You remind me of a doll."

Breq tried to tone down her reflexes. To a viewer, this should be a slightly embarrassing conversation, not a threat of unmasking. "That's very flattering. I'm sure you make beautiful dolls."

"Mmm. Some of them. Were you a dancer?"

"I played sport, a game that unfortunately has remained only locally popular. Though I do have an interest in music."

That immediately turned the conversation to safer topics. Breq found out that the woman, Wahhas, was a master potter at her own studio, sculptor of the very detailed, almost translucent figurines of Amaat that decorated the school's own shrine, and had travelled from her own studio to learn from another master. In fact, four of the people at the table were themselves masters in their own sub-disciplines of pottery. It was apparently very rare for the masters to leave their studios even to travel elsewhere on the same planet, and they were certainly never away for more than a night. To bring such talent to a single place, perhaps this evening class would be more interesting than Breq had imagined. 

After dinner was concluded, the chosen eight students mingled with the masterclass attendees as tea was served. Breq had considered this a good opportunity to get close to Isharra, but unfortunately she had immediately been surrounded by a coterie of younger artists – the four guest master potters and the fifth, the tutor, maintained more dignity – trying to curry her favour, which could make or break their fortunes. Isharra was obviously used to this, and remained close-mouthed, standing at the centre of the frenzy with the still posture of the Fleet Captain she had once been. Breq gave up and stuck with her dinner companion Wahhas.

Wahhas was frowning at another master potter, this one a creator of the elaborate family crests that decorated every doorway on the planet, and, increasingly, the most fashionable thresholds elsewhere. 

"Thieves, the lot of them. Who's going to see our work when she's got it locked away in her vaults?"

Wahhas shrugged. "I believe she has much of it on display, though of course I have not travelled to Ibin Station myself. But, Ustal, have you not sold many works to collectors from off-world?"

Ustal did not seem pleased by this point. She had a face that suggested she was not often pleased by anything. "My works serve a purpose, as do yours, Wahhas. Mine is the threshold, yours the shrine."

One of the other elderly masters, the head of the studio they were in, cackled. "Oh, it's only when I'm making money out of it that you have a problem! Yes, everything we make here should be used, used daily, but don't tell me you've gone and inspected every single owner of your threshold crests. Someone wants to hide my tea bowls in their vault? That's their loss! The bowls will be fine until they come to someone better who values them for what they are!" 

Ustal continued to frown, her eyes nearly invisible under her bushy eyebrows. "I suppose that's one way to lure people to these overpriced workshops of yours."

"Aha! You do have a grudge about the money!"

A small bell rang, interrupting what seemed to be the latest instalment in a very long argument, and the class participants and observers filed into a studio similar to the one Breq had been in this morning. The observers were ushered to two rows of cushions on a raised platform at the side of the room, and, with a little quick shuffling, Breq was pleased to find herself seated directly behind Isharra Ibin, close enough that a breath could move her halo of white hair. 

The elderly pottery masters and several senior practitioners, most middle-aged, took their stations at the well-worn benches, as uniformed students laid out the materials in front of them. Here the multiple ingredients remained unmixed, and the broken tea bowls set before them were of exquisite quality. Breq might not be a connoisseur of pottery, but over such a long existence she had developed an aesthetic appreciation of many things, and could tell that the tea bowls were rare, ancient and terribly damaged. Most of them were in several pieces, and Breq could see that none of the pieces were enough to assemble an entire bowl. 

The teacher wandered the room, lecturing as she did on how to perfectly match the grain of the bone to the grain of the porcelain, and the classroom was very quiet as the experienced students carefully mixed their ingredients accordingly. It obviously wasn't the first time they'd used this technique, in such an advanced class, and Breq admired their economy of movement and intense focus. 

Isharra was also watching the potters work, intent on their technique and, Breq noted, taking notes on a small handheld screen. She was ignoring the master potters and observing the senior practitioners, the final rank of this craft before forming their own studios and becoming masters. Breq gently eased her weight onto her left hip so that she could get a better look at the screen. 

The notes were in an old-fashioned military shorthand that Breq knew well, and seemed to be a detailed dossier on each of the senior practitioners, including everything from family background to financial standing. Isharra was very efficiently adding her own notes about their artistic confidence and the remarks from the master potter who was teaching them. She was certainly far more informed about the practice of ceramic repair than Breq, and Breq had done in-depth research before she came here, in order to better make contact with Isharra. 

Isharra, it seemed, still had enough military instincts to know when someone was watching her, and flicked her screen over to mirror with a tiny gesture. A regular citizen might have missed the gesture, but Breq certainly didn't, and switched to intently observing the class in the almost half a second that it took for Isharra to complete the gesture and observe the reflection. Annoyingly, Breq still had the feeling that Isharra was watching her throughout the rest of the class, no matter how attentive Breq was to everything but Isharra and the other observers. 

After the class, the student observers were permitted to step down into the studio and examine the repairs made by the advanced class. Breq made sure to not be caught watching Isharra, who was busy examining the newly mended pieces. Again, she paid particular attention to the works made by the advanced practitioners, though she was socially adept enough that her praise of the other master potters was entirely appropriate, perhaps even a little fulsome, like any collector enthusing over an artist. 

Breq, in the end, didn't need to make contact: Isharra approached her in the corridor as they filed out to be served more tea. 

"Who sent you?" she said abruptly. She had not called security, or even her granddaughters. 

"I answer only to myself."

"You're no artist. A collector, maybe."

"Maybe," Breq allowed. "Enough to wonder why you observe the upcoming masters, rather than the masters themselves." Breq was careful not to mention the dossiers. Most people outside a certain generation of the military wouldn't be able to read those notes without a decoder; admitting she'd understood them would be admitting to either being military and thus a threat, or to having serious augmentation in a time where it was unfashionable and thus suspicious in itself.

Isharra inclined her head, her dark eyes narrow. "Observant indeed. Please, take tea with me…?" She left an awkward space to fill.

"Ghi Vars," Breq said. House Ibin would surely be investigating this identity very shortly. 

"Ah, from the Tyvon system?" 

Breq was a little surprised that Isharra had placed the name so easily, but then, she travelled far more than most upper class Radchaai chose to do. Also, forty-six percent of people in the Tyvon system shared that forename, which was one of the reasons Breq had chosen it.

"Indeed. I suppose you know of our wooden masks?" 

"Yes, absolutely magnificent items, worked within a living tree over generations! Astonishing. I have only a single mask in my possession, much to my regret."

Breq nodded solemnly. "You are very fortunate to have even one."

They proceed back to the tea room, and sat side by side as they were served. The bowls, imprinted with local flora, were of remarkable quality, to nobody's surprise. Some of them, Breq noticed, had been repaired. 

Isharra sipped in polite silence for a few moments, but her military self won out over the society lady. 

"So, which of the masterclass students did you think the most adept?"

"Master Wahhas," Breq answered without hesitation, though truly at that level of skill she had little idea. It seemed a safe bet to select a master, and the observant old woman with the strong hands was the first to mind. 

"Perhaps so."

Breq suddenly put the pieces together. "But the masters don't leave their studios, do they? You need something repaired, something you can't bring here. It must be very valuable." Or very illegal, Breq thought, but said nothing. 

Isharra didn't give anything away, to her credit. "It's certainly a situation I can imagine occurring." 

"How will you select your craftsman?" Breq asked. "Do you think you have the expertise to tell apart an adequate repairman from a true artist?"

"It's always a difficult question, isn't it? Even under ideal circumstances selecting a restorer can be complex."

Breq took her tea from a student with a tray, and managed not to raise an eyebrow. "And when the circumstances are not ideal?"

"I see you have dealt with such circumstances yourself." Isharra sipped her own tea, her eyes level over the rim. 

"On many occasions," Breq replied. The rough texture of the burned-away leaf on the ceramic tea bowl caught at her thumb, but Breq simply moved her grip. That was an impression of the past, and Breq was thinking only of the future.

Isharra had turned away into another conversation with another of the master class attendees; a woman with tiny ceramic beads strewn through her smoothly braided hair, so they gleamed like the first visible planets in an evening sky. From the overheard conversation, it seemed that she was a student of Master Ustal, and soon to take the title of Master herself. Considering how cranky the Master had been about collectors like Isharra, Breq didn't like Isharra's chances of persuading this potter to come off-world to work on a secret project. 

"You! Isharra Ibin!" It was Master Ustal, who seemed to have drunk something other than tea, and was rudely pointing directly at Isharra, her gloved hand outthrust. Isharra did not back away from the confrontation, instead taking a step closer. 

"Yes, I am Isharra Ibin. Do you have business with me, Master Ustal?"

"No! I do not and I never will! People like you are the graves of craft!" She stood directly in front of the much taller Isharra, who gave no ground.

"Your works will long outlast you, Master Ustal. What then?"

"My works are designed to last, to display for generations. And here you are trying to steal my best student away! Stealing the present and the future too!"

With that, she launched herself at Isharra, who stepped neatly aside. Ustal swung around with a nimbleness that belied her years, and lunged back with a ceramics tool in hand. 

Istarra moved to dodge the stabbing gesture, and realised too late that the tool was not a knife but a clay cutting tool with the blade bent at 90 degrees to the handle. Ustal slashed Istarra's arm and she dropped her empty tea bowl, crying out in shock. 

Breq didn't even allow herself time to think about it. She caught the falling tea bowl, and, in the same swift movement, turned the bowl so that Ustal's next slash hit the inside of the bowl rather than soft flesh.

The bowl, despite being mended, rang out a clear chime when it was struck and Ustal froze. Breq took advantage of the master's sudden change of heart to pluck the cutting tool from her hand, standing between her and Istarra, but Ustal had lost all thoughts of violence.

"So beautiful," the old master said, taking the bowl from Breq's hand and turning it over and over in admiration. "Why would you lock this away?"

Two of the students were at Ustal's side now, carefully restraining their master, and Istarra, holding her bleeding arm, approached. 

"Master Ustal, perhaps we differ in approach, but we both appreciate the beauty of this bowl, even more so now that it has saved my life. Perhaps I will reconsider your argument for utility."

"Thank you," the master replied, handing the bowl back to Breq. She tottered away, supported by her students as if she had not, moments before, been trying to murder a guest. 

The master of the current studio leapt forward to apologise, but Isharra brushed her aside. 

"Master Ustal is perhaps a little enthusiastic in her arguments, but I am not seriously hurt and I do not expect charges to be brought. A medic would be very helpful, if you don't mind."

"Of course!" The master gestured and students dashed off in every direction.

Istarra sat on the window seat, and gestured for Breq to join her.

"I think I will buy that bowl." Istarra flicked it with her fingernail, but it did not chime as it had before. 

"Perhaps a sharper implement?" Breq suggested, unable to quell herself.

"I think I have had enough of sharp implements for now. You moved very quickly, Ghi Vars of Tyvon."

"Professional sports."

"You are a person of many talents, I see." As the medic approached to tend to her injury, Isharra reached into a hidden pocket in her deep blue robes and presented Breq with an encoded chip. "I do hope you'll come visit me on Ibin Station some time. It seems we have a great deal to discuss."

"Indeed we do." Breq inclined her head politely as she took the chip and moved away to allow the medic access, but inside she was cheering. It could have been a disaster to find that Isharra Ibin was just as interested in strange people as she was in rare antiquities, but instead Breq had an open invitation and security pass in her hand. Shattered she may have been, and would never be whole, but she stuck each piece of herself perfectly to the next and thrust it in the fire, always building towards her final revenge. The Garseddai weapon would be hers, and she would be strong enough to wield it against the Tyrant.


End file.
